Month: July 2013

My book, ‘In Service to the Senses’ is out today as a single release for a mere £1.85 from Total-E-Bound. It’s got it all – horny countesses, hot valets and well-hung footmen. What’s not to love? And they do get very creative, the three of them. What else is there to do in a country house in the … umm, country?

Here’s a little teaser for you. Here, the new footman, Frederick, meets the beautiful countess for the first time. In the absence of the valet, Edward, she is seeking other diversions.

–xoOoxx–

“Are you wondering why I’ve summoned you?”

“I haven’t thought about it, my lady.”

“Oh?” She stood and walked slowly towards him. “I should think you have. Do you not speak to Edward?”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Then I should suspect you know exactly why you are here.”

She was circling him now, casting her gaze over his elegant form, clad impeccably in the livery she herself had selected for her footmen. Then she brought up her hand and ran her fingers idly along his shoulder. “Your livery suits you, Frederick, and I am very pleased to see you have worn it correctly today.”

“Yes, my lady.” He dared turn to look at her as she continued her progress around him.

“Do you find it comfortable?”

“Yes, my lady,” he lied.

She was now smoothing her hand down his abdomen, curling it around towards his hips. “Not too tight?”

“Not unduly, my lady.”

“What? Are you implying some parts of it are a little snug?” The word dropped tantalisingly off her tongue. Fred felt both his confidence and his cock raising their heads. He decided to play along.

“Perhaps in one area, my lady.”

“Oh?” Her hand came to rest in that one area and she cupped the heavy contents of his breeches in her palm. Her eyes widened as she felt its full potential. “Yes…I must say…the trousers are fitted for the average man. You, Frederick, are clearly not the average man.”

“So I’ve been told, my lady.” He let his voice lilt conspiratorially.

She was undoing the placket and slipping her fingers inside. Frederick swallowed hard and let her ply him assuredly.

Isabella could not tear her eyes away from the sight before her. He was certainly not the average man. What was stirring in her palm now rose up so thick and long, even she was impressed. She spat into her fingers and started to work him, then curled her hand around his considerable girth and pumped, letting her thumb stroke over the slit. She grinned up as his eyes closed and his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“My lady…”

“Yes?”

“That feels…”

“What?”

“Fuckin’ incredible.”

“Language, Frederick.”

“Excuse me, my lady.”

Isabella could tell he was nearly there. She could barely close her fingers around his stupendous cock, but she was bringing him quickly to a climax with her hand, she knew that. She was, after all, well-practised in the art.

Then, just as his breath hitched at the approach of orgasm she withdrew her hand and stepped away. “I don’t want you making a mess of my clothes and the rug. It’s fifteenth-century Persian.”

All that and much, much more for the price of a decent cup of coffee. Perfect for a lazy summer evening. Thanks for visiting! DH x

It’s summer. I’m in Britain. And it’s the Ashes. There follows a slight change from the norm, but don’t worry, it’s still mainly about sex.

For those of you who are not English or Australian, the Ashes is a series of five day cricket matches played between England and Australia and bla de bla de bla … that’s all you need to know. They’re really important and WE HAVE TO WIN THEM (or retain them as we won them before – nya nya nya).

I love cricket. And, as may have been sussed out previously, I love men. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that I therefore love the blokes currently making up the England side, who, let’s face it, on the whole, are FIT. And I mean F-I-T.

And – way hay! – it all sounds like sexual innuendo. As I lay awake last night dreaming of Jimmy Anderson’s balls (What? He’s a bowler …), this sprung to mind. So here goes. Best spoken with wide-eyed, lip-biting exaggeration, but could all, of course, be heard on the pitch or in the pavilion. Naturally.

(To be honest, it probably helps if you know about cricket terms to start with and then just think of them in a slightly alternative way, if you haven’t already. Being me, I do it all the time.)

1) (ecstatically) Oh, Steven, you certainly know how to bowl a maiden over.(*rolls eyes* I had to include it. Let’s get it out of the way. Steven, btw, refers to Steven Finn. Google him. You’ll see what I mean.)

2) (pantingly) Alastair, trust me, it’s going to be a very sticky wicket.

3) (pleasantly surprised) Ooh, he’s got a lovely straight bat.

4) (encouragingly) You’re doing so well, Stuart! Yes, oh yes, just like that. Come on! Occupy the crease for as long as you can!

5) (despairingly) It’s just not working. You need to open the face of your bat more!

My good friend and inspiration, Justine Elyot, has been running a fascinating series of blog posts under the banner ‘Briterotica’. It features a diverse range of insights from some of the UK’s erotica authors into how Britain has inspired and influenced their writing, amongst other things. I’m very grateful to her for asking me to write something too.

I have chosen to focus on my favourite topic – men, and, more specifically, British men. Oh, I could go on and on …

I didn’t include any pics in the actual blog, so here are some now to make up for it. Just a selection of British men through the ages whom I have found most inspirational … 😉 Bit random, but hey ho; it would be never ending otherwise.

Naughty me. It appears to have been some time since I last updated this blog.

I do have Genuine Reasons for this, believe me. There is plenty I could have told you, but that belongs to the Other Me, the Me I’m not allowed to mention. The Me who gets the kids to school and ferries them around and works full time (on stuff other than writing, more’s the pity) and tries to juggle a load of balls in the air while maintaining a semblance of creativity and sanity.

It’s been one of the busiest few weeks I can remember, and this blog has been one thing which has had to take a back seat for a while.

It’s a curious thing, this double life. On the one hand, I adore and need the anonymity of my writing, but on the other, I want to scream from the rooftops about all the other things I get up to and how it informs how and what I write.

And then there’s the other side. I can’t go into work and discuss anything related to publishing and writing. If I get good news on an acceptance during the day, I have to conceal my glee and keep it tucked safely inside.

I couldn’t and wouldn’t have it any other way, but it’s strangely tiring. It strikes me that people seeing either side of me may suspect I’m lacking in some way. Nah. That’s just my perception, but I do feel as if I’ve chopped myself up into different portions which I only share with certain groups. Sorry, folks, very few of you get to taste the whole pie!

At least now I have some time on my hands to devote to writing, blogging and shameless self-promotion.

More on that later, for now, cheers m’dears and, if you’re in balmy England like me, enjoy this incredibly weather.